


Knob-Polishing (Euphemistic and Otherwise)

by itachitachi



Series: Summer Pornathon '12 [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Asexual Character, Exhibitionism, M/M, Obedience, Other, Prostitution, Team Gluttony, new career opportunities for manservants in camelot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 07:54:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2261862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itachitachi/pseuds/itachitachi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unlike George's previous work at the castle, there was not to be any dressing or undressing of other persons—Morris and his coworkers were in charge of that sort of thing. There were a lot more mysterious fluids to be scrubbed off of floors and walls and out of sheets.</p><p>(<i>Brothel</i>, George thought. <i>A brothel!</i>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knob-Polishing (Euphemistic and Otherwise)

**Author's Note:**

> For Pthon 2012 week 4: Minor Characters! *pets Morris*

George was unquestionably the best manservant in all of Camelot. He didn't have to be arrogant to believe that; the only other candidates were Morris (a masochistic little thing, constantly idling in hopes of punishment) and Merlin (a _brat_ , defiant, who delighted in his own sorry ineptitude).

In contrast, George was the pinnacle of manservanthood. He took pride in service, and did not strive for praise, but rather, perfection. For years he had faithfully served the King, until the lamentable onset of his illness—then the Prince had discarded him like so much dishwater, leaving the delicate health of the King in the hands of Merlin (ugh) and Guinevere (passable, but ultimately inferior to George).

And this explained his current predicament: unemployed, crouching in a back alley with Morris in the lower town.

"You say you've found new work?" George asked, sullen. "What's it then?"

"You'll see," Morris said. "Come on. Not that you'd be any good, but maybe you could clean the rooms or something."

George followed Morris through the back door of the mysterious establishment, wondering how a life of _cleaning the rooms or something_ could ever compare to his previous position. But upon entering the main space he stopped wondering anything—except, perhaps, whether men really could bend quite... so... far...

"I've got an appointment now actually," Morris said, apparently oblivious to the appalling display surrounding them. "There's nothing like a bare-arsed spanking before a good fuck, and you can't really get either of those employed in the castle. I bet one or the other would loosen you up. Though if you'd rather not, Sarah's at the front. She's been looking for some help."

George wondered what kind of help Morris meant exactly—images of himself on his knees under a strange woman's skirt floated distressingly behind his eyelids—but found with relief that Sarah really was just looking for a second pair of hands to help keep the brothel clean.

( _Brothel_ , George thought. _A brothel!_ )

Unlike his work at the castle, there was not to be any dressing or undressing of other persons—Morris and his coworkers were in charge of that sort of thing. There were a lot more mysterious fluids to be scrubbed off of floors and walls and out of sheets. And of course, there was a lot more sex.

George had never much been interested in... intercourse. It all seemed a bit messy and unnecessary to him, inefficient. Why, George could sweep three floors to spotlessness in the time it took for the average man to jerk off. But Morris... well, Morris seemed to be in his element here.

"Slut," a tall man affectionately told Morris, bent over his lap in the lounge (such as it was). Three of his fingers were currently somewhere that George felt fingers should not generally go. 

The man did something with his hand that made Morris sigh and twist, eyes fluttering open—and landing on George, sweeping nearby. (Sweeping the same patch of floor in the corner for far too long, actually. And possibly watching. Erm.)

"Another finger, sir?" Morris asked, his gaze not lifting from George. "Please."

George hastily retreated.

It was not that night, but the next night that Morris cornered him. In the wee hours when Morris and the others were just bedding down, George was turning under his sheets, just about to rise.

"You," Morris said, straddling George's hips, trousers undone, "have some serious pent-up... _something_."

George opened his eyes. "I'm fine," he said, but for some reason couldn't stop staring at the brown mess of hair peeking out of Morris's open laces, or at the soft pink cock there, just starting to rise again.

"You want something," Morris said, reaching in and pulling out his—his erection.

"Oh, I—" George said, pulling the blanket up his chest, but he was fascinated and couldn't quite look away. "No—I don't think I really do."

"Alright," Morris said amicably, but continued stroking himself. "Don't move."

It was an order. A sound tumbled out of George's mouth quite independent of his own volition. He didn't move—was in fact perfectly still, on his back, watching as Morris touched himself faster, and faster, and—then—

Hot droplets everywhere, on the blanket and the floor and a little way up George's neck.

"Good," Morris said.

George's breath hitched. He could hear the next words on the tip of Morris's tongue and wanted them desperately, wanted them more than anything.

"Now," Morris murmured, "clean it up."


End file.
